Ruth was inflammable; she would always be flaring up swiftly, in pity, in tenderness, in anger; she would always be answering impulses, without seeking to weigh or to analyse them. She glanced into her companion’s face, and she saw there strange things. Most of the horses were dead, all but three stallions and two mares left among what was once a thriving stable. Come along home, Ruth. ” “You have to kill people. Eh? Banging against the old rollers—that'll put some life into us both. Here was the same Ruth who had left him a few minutes since: the same outwardly; and yet…! On the ninth day Spurlock was up and about; that is, he was strong enough to walk alone, from the companion to his chair, to lean upon the rail when the chair grew irksome, to join Ruth and his employer at lunch and dinner: strong enough to argue about books, music, paintings. . Such a beautiful boy he is, but his intelligence is marginal.
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